Andrew Morgan - Vessel

‘We go outside,’ he said.

‘ God ? He found god ?’

Sean felt more than a little perplexed, his pen frozen mid-word on the pad.

‘So he says,’ Lev said.

‘What exactly did he see?’

Lev pulled a face, dismissing himself of the question. ‘No one knows but him. I don’t think it was necessarily what he saw that made him do what he did, but what he felt. A presence, if you like.’

‘Is this the same as the philosophical crap astronauts seem to go through when they see Earth for the first time?’

‘I suppose so, yes. I’ve been led to believe that seeing Earth in that manner is a very profound and humbling experience.’

‘But Gardner had already been up once before.’

‘He had.’

‘So if he was fine the first time, what happened to him the second time?’

Lev shrugged.

Sean could see from a mile off that this was a dead end — at least for now. Time to change the subject. ‘Let’s talk about Sally Fisher,’ he said.

‘I don’t know anything about Sally Fisher. She was brought in by Bales. I think she’s NASA.’

‘ I think she’s SETI.’

Lev shifted in his seat.

‘If she’s SETI,’ Sean continued, ‘what’s she doing on board a hastily-converted Russian resupply mission?’

Lev took a breath. ‘She’s a communication expert who—’

‘I appreciate you need to protect yourself,’ Sean said, ‘but that doesn’t mean you can serve me shit and call it steak. NASA values the work SETI does, and no doubt Sally Fisher is a comms genius, but there’s no hope in hell of any SETI bod making it to space — unless there’s something up there we didn’t invite.’ The words were satisfying as they came off his tongue. Then he noticed an odd thing: Lev looked frightened.

‘It seems you’ve got it all figured out,’ he said.

Sean shuffled to the edge of the bed, closer to Lev. He spoke in a low voice. ‘I know a lot more than you think I do, but I don’t know half as much as I want to. You know something more. Something important. You’re here because that something is driving you off the rails. Never mind that stuff about Gardner — you’ve got a weight you need off your shoulders. Well, here I am to take that weight. Talk to me.’

Lev looked out of the four-storey window, watching a small passenger jet puncture the low, grey clouds. ‘I know who Bales is and what he’s doing. But — but telling you is a hell of a risk for me. I’m not sure if I can do it.’

He stood, knocking the table and making it wobble.

‘I have to go,’ he said, and all at once he was leaving the room. The door clinked shut behind him.

‘Godammit,’ Sean said.

The hole was the darkest thing Sally had ever seen. Despite the abundance of shining white prickles, the blackness in between seemed to suck the light away to nothing — and she was about to go out there.

‘Keep one hand on a handhold at all times,’ Gardner said, ‘particularly as you exit the hatch. And stay close. Let me know if I’m moving too fast.’

Although her body trembled with the same nerves as Gardner’s voice did, Sally nodded her understanding, trying to keep her focus on the cosmic abyss in front. Gardner reached out and grasped the lip of the hatch.

‘I’m going to climb out first. I’ll let you know when I’m clear so you can follow.’

He shut his eyes, took a breath, then threaded himself through the hatch, gently spinning and rolling a little here and there to keep on track. Sally watched him, the ball in her stomach fast becoming a writhing jelly. A shock of adrenaline fizzed down to her fingers and toes when Gardner’s feet disappeared from view altogether. She waited, alone.

‘Sally, you can come out now. Go slowly. Take your time.’

Surprising herself, she kicked off against the module, drawing the gaping hole closer. So far, weightlessness had felt like swimming, but it fast became apparent that once she was in free motion, no amount of waving her arms or kicking her legs would adjust her course. She tumbled as she headed towards the hatch, clawing and grabbing to find purchase and right her course. She hit the far side of the module backwards, and the shock of the unexpected stop sent a blackness to her vision that almost made her pass out.

‘Let me know if you need some help, okay?’ Gardner said.

Sally had found a handhold that she clung to with a panic-strong grip. She didn’t need her thumping chest and burning throat to remind her she’d nearly drifted off into space, to tumble forever with no hope of return.

‘I’m fine,’ she croaked. ‘Just give me a minute.’

Despite her undeniable introversion, Sally had made it her life’s work never to be beaten. She had surprised others — and herself — many times before, and she felt a familiar determination feeding strength to her body, pushing her to do what she never thought she could. It was the same feeling she had somehow conjured when she’d won the Barry Goldwater Scholarship at MIT, despite her father dying in a car accident a month before; the same feeling when she had pitted her mind against CalTech’s brightest to earn a communications contract despite the intense competition; the same feeling when she — at the age of six — had watched her mother fall asleep for the last time, succumbing to the hold of a tumour-riddled lymphatic system. Her death had been so gentle, so undramatic, and she would never forget just how hollow she had felt. It had seemed like she should cry, but the tears hadn’t come. All she’d felt was insignificant, one of the billions of mammals on a rotating ball of earth and rock, playing her part in the cleansing cycle of evolution.

But that insignificance was nothing compared to what she felt now, looking out the hatch into the vastness of the universe. As she drew herself out, she saw something new, below the shimmering folds of the station’s photovoltaic arrays, beaming an impossibly bright assortment of browns, blues, greens and greys — Earth.

‘Oh my god…’ she breathed. Sally was far from religious, but looking at the sight below, the sentiment seemed apt.

‘How are you doing?’ Gardner asked.

He was down and to the left, clinging to the next module along, looking back up at her.

‘I’m okay. Just…’ She took a breath. ‘Just readying myself.’

‘Take your time.’

The orbital module was almost spherical in shape, flattened at the nose where it mated with the station. It was shrouded in a shimmering foil that looked almost the same as the blankets given to runners after a race, and it was completely lacking in anything to hold on to. Gardner must have anticipated this.

‘Try to gather some of the material to pull yourself out with. Make sure you’ve got a firm grip with one hand before you let go with the other.’

Sally could see that the foil had been bunched up and creased in a staggered pattern, and she reached out to grab a handful.

‘Be careful when you pull. The material is very delicate and tears easily.’

She hesitated, then grasped a fresh ripple of foil. It thrummed in her hand as it crumpled, and although her logical brain understood why no sound joined it, her instinctive brain itched at its absence. It was now or never. She could pull herself out or she could stay here and suffocate. It sounded so simple in her head.

‘Here I go,’ she said, easing herself out.

‘Good. Take your time, no sudden movements.’

The slight tug against the foil was enough to arc her body out from the hatch, floating around until she was facing down towards the station. But she didn’t stop turning, her momentum indefinite and unrestricted.